


Chaos Is a Color I Wear Well

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Amaya confronts Mick about his bad habits of late, but she just can't seem to do so while keeping her feelings for him in check.





	Chaos Is a Color I Wear Well

“Mick,” Amaya snaps, poking him on the shoulder. He shifts slightly on the benchpress, letting out a loud yawn before rolling over without even opening his eyes. _He’s impossible._

She flicks him on the back of his head and repeats his name, satisfied when he gives a start and sits bolt upright, staring at her. He’s pissed off for a second until he sees that it’s Amaya and relaxes like he always does. Just for her.

“Don’t you knock?” He grouses, rubbing his eyes as Amaya crosses her arms. _It’s hardly as if I have nothing better to do with my time than to come barging into your quarters in the middle of the night._

Right….?

“Hardly ever,” she admits smoothly in response to his question. “We need to talk, Mick.”

“Okay, let me just—” He gets up and heads to the mini-fridge in the corner, but she puts two hands on his shoulders, which makes him stop in his tracks and look into her eyes with something between confusion and longing.

If indeed she is interpreting his expression accurately, that means they are aligned. Unquestionably, from the earliest days of her friendship with Mick Rory, Amaya has been pinned in that same spot, trapped by repressed attraction and perplexity as to why she feels so strongly for the man. Of course, she loves him very much as a friend, and he’s completely worthy of her regard in that way. But obviously, _clearly_ , most especially because it makes so much sense, Amaya is in love with Nathaniel.

Her mind hates her right now, or has a long-held grudge due to her habit of telling it to shut up. It cackles coldly against her attempt to lie, adding another breathy, mocking _really?_

She could have groaned but as Mick would say, she has bigger fish to fry right now. This is no time to go off on some mental tangent about her complicated romantic feelings. 

Mick sees the flicker of uncertain nervousness cross Amaya’s face, and his hands rise to touch her waist before dropping back down in some sort of defeat she can’t figure out. There’s so much soul in his dark blue gaze, such undisguised affection and respect for her; it unties a knot in her stomach and she feels as if she could just fall into those eyes and go swimming away. But where would she end up?

“What is it?” His throaty rumble of a voice is a gorgeous force of nature. When he applies it to the three syllables of her name, she could easily melt, especially since he calls every other Legend by some silly nickname. The question is sensitive; he’s put aside his greedy craving for a beer, focused completely on Amaya.

“I…” She’s so soft right now; he could blow her away with a single breath against her lips. But Amaya reminds herself firmly of why she is here and clears her throat. Then she remembers to pull her hands back from his shoulders. There’s another strange slip-up into an almost trance state when Mick’s eyes dart to her lips, and he’s thinking very intently about _something._

_About what, I guess I’ll probably never know. Come on, girl. That’s enough. About your business._

“Mick, you’ve got to pull yourself together.” Amaya’s brain is back at it, laughing uproariously. _You are certainly one to talk!_ She ignores the thought and continues, “Everyone was imperiled today because you drank yourself into a coma. Furthermore, you only stayed behind when the rest of us were off on missions because you said you were going to help Ray. Instead, you let him get badly injured. Sara could have destroyed the Waverider and killed you both if things had gone even slightly differently.” Her voice carries her attempt at sternness waveringly; her concern and fear at the thought that she almost lost Mick is cutting right into the blend.

“I couldn’t have stopped Sara,” Mick defends himself feebly.

“You don’t know that. And there’s another thing we need to discuss, Mick. Stop putting yourself down all the time, saying what you _can’t_ do, telling us you’re not a hero. You’re a totem bearer now, so in case it’s not enough for me to assure you that you’re a good man and a hero, you might need to use _that_ as a reason to snap out of this annoyingly self-involved, indulgent, moping, alcohol and junk-food infused stupor!”

“Huh,” he muses, raising his eyebrows. “You’re yelling.”

They are still standing precariously close to each other. She can’t step back. “I guess I am,” Amaya observes. Then she gathers herself more assertively and adds, “You are going to stop each and every one of those bad habits that I just listed and devote yourself to being an active, alert, and on-task member of this team, or believe you me, I’ll—” She puts her pointed finger at the center of his chest and he stares down at it.

“You’ll do what?” He asks gruffly, gently taking her hand and lowering it, looking very inclined to caress her fingers before he lets go again, averts his eyes for the first time in several minutes. There’s a lump in his throat.

Her heart picks up speed and a hot tingle spreads over her skin. Amaya knows she must be blushing. She murmurs, “I’ll…well, I will be very disappointed. And I will advise Sara that we should send you to a rehab clinic if you refuse to take better care of yourself and your teammates.” 

_So there._ Yes, it might have been more convincing if her voice hadn’t stroked every word with silky solicitude, but oh, well.

“You’d send me away?” He’s curious, captivated, but still falling into his usual habit of treating Amaya with careful restraint. Mick Rory plus “careful restraint” equaled a total opposition of terms, but somehow it was true. 

“Cute” ought to be just one more adjective that didn’t fit this burly hunk of a man with his roughened voice and reckless ways, the fire of self-dislike raging through him until he was a powder keg of volatile emotion, more a warning than a person. But Mick was _so_ cute right now, and Amaya had seen him embody the term on multiple other occasions, if she was honest. He was listening to her with affectionate patience, unable to resist taking her words to heart because they were hers.

“I wouldn’t want to,” she confesses, blushing more deeply. “Uh, that is, you’re my friend, and I’d hate to see you leave. But I won’t watch you drink yourself to death out of some misplaced, never-ending guilt spiral. You’ve made mistakes in your life, you’ve lost people, but you know what? We all have. God, Mick, look at Sara, think about all she’s endured. She used to be an _assassin,_ and she’s the best person we know! Don’t give up on yourself, on your redemption — you’re almost there.”

Mick shakes his head with a humorless chuckle and looks at her again, adoringly. “ _You’re_ the best person I know, Amaya.” He brushes her burning cheek and she realizes that there’s a tear on his thumb now. Thoughts start racing through her faster than she can keep up with them. 

That she’s hardly ever seen him with his gloves off, but tonight he went to sleep without them. 

That his bare finger feels amazing against her skin. And very intimate.

Lastly, running late, comes the understanding that he vocalizes next.

“You’re crying,” Mick states, again bewildered. “Why?”

 _I’m in love with you. Fuck!_ No…what had she been thinking, coming here? Who is the unstable one, really, who is the disaster? Amaya shivers and Mick rubs her arms soothingly.

“It’s alright. I don’t know why you’re so upset, but if it’s anything to do with me messing up today, I’m sorry. I guess…” His voice trails off, rueful but still in doubt that he can really ever change. “I guess I could try harder.”

Amaya’s bright brown eyes shoot him a reprimanding look and he revises himself hurriedly. “I could try a lot harder,” he clarifies, “For you.”

“Mick,” she can’t help saying, knowing she shouldn’t, “Why don’t you want to care about us? Why do you keep us all so far away with your jokes and your insults and everything else? Pretending to be some feral cretin half the time, when you know we can see right through you! We love you. You’ve been there for us so many times when we needed you. Drop the pretenses. Open up.”

“It oughta be pretty obvious why that’s hard for me, but I’m not exactly clear on what you’re really askin’ here.” He’s analyzing her with that apt quickness he tries to conceal on a daily basis. 

“Do you _want_ to care about people?” Amaya ruffles her curly hair and he watches the movement with fond admiration.

“Why are you wearing that?” He asks the subject-changing question in a quiet way that keeps her suspended on his high wire. Nothing all the way around but empty air, whistling beckoningly.

Amaya remembers her teal lace party dress and her lips twitch into a smile. “Oh, this. Gideon just found an anomaly in 1987, so I’m going to go fix it. Um, and so, so I dressed appropriately for the era…” Mick’s looking her up and down, as if she’s some unfathomable angel. He drives her crazy. “As one does,” she finishes pathetically. “But I didn’t want to wait any longer before talking to you because it’s too important.”

“You look beautiful,” he smiles almost shyly. “Right. Fine. We talked. Can I come with you? Start turnin’ over my new leaf here and now.” He’s being sweet, tempting her fingers to graze his stubbled cheeks, knowing how good the friction will feel under her touch.

Thinking about the way that same stubble would feel pressed and rubbed against other places on her body… _Ughhhh, I’m out of control._

“You never answered my most recent question. Do that and we’ll go. We’ll move on.” Amaya waits as he mulls her words.

“Do I want to care about other people?” There’s that laugh again, the reflective one that means to call her out on all her bullshit. He’s smart and now he’s got her almost figured out, as if he’s going to get understanding Amaya down to an art. “I’ll answer when you ask me the _real_ question hiding behind the one you said.”

Her eyes are wet again and the tears cling to her fluttering lashes as her whispered answer emerges. Amaya gives in and strokes his cheek, prompting him to kiss her hand and send a jolt of arousal straight to her pulsing core. His lips are so lovely and warm…

“Do you care about me?” she says, not a question but a plea.

“Amaya, what about Nate—” Mick starts to ask. Fuck, this has gone too far. He’s very serious and she’s seldom seen him so intense. When does he ever call Nate anything but the condescendingly spat “Pretty”?

“Please, don’t say his name,” Amaya begs weakly, shuddering her way into his arms, resting her face against his shoulder. He gathers her into his embrace and lets out a long, deep breath like she’s healing him from every misery he’s known. “Don’t say his name. Don’t say anything else, just stop talking altogether. Just…” She tips her chin up, watching him watch her, hanging on her every word. But then he’s falling over the edge because Amaya is done talking and there’s nothing left to hold onto.

She lifts up onto her toes and slides her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his as he immediately returns the kiss, crushing her against his hard body until she can feel every slam of his heartbeat, every chaotic breath in him. “Mick,” she sighs, opening her mouth as his tongue slips in and they make out with shameless enthusiasm, letting out mutual sounds of incoherent satisfaction. He tastes of whiskey and mint, and he’s one hell of a kisser. Over and over he claims her lips, first with tender passion and then with near-bruising virility, till he pulls back and murmurs a breathless apology.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Amaya, and I haven’t been with anyone in forever. I didn’t mean to be too rough, kiss you too hard…” His voice breaks with feeling and Amaya grabs his face in her hands.

“Kiss me harder,” she demands, unzipping her dress. 

“Do you really want to do this?” Mick has to hold himself back because if they go any further, neither of them will have the strength to stop this. 

“Do you?” She asks, trembling in her beige strapless bra and matching cotton underwear. Cold, actually. Craving his warmth more than ever until it hurts. He can’t bear to see her shiver, so he pulls her back into his arms and massages her back…so comfortingly at first, until he feels the goosebumps on her arms…moves his hands over her back and down to her rear…

He withdraws his touch, fixes Amaya with a look that stops her heart. So much yearning, it unravels her, or what’s left of her, anyway. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret or feel guilty about,” Mick says.

All the fear she’s felt since coming back mounts until a low sob escapes her throat and his own eyes mist up. The terror that she’d lost control of her power and hurt others, that she could do that again…regaining her self-belief just to have her totem ripped away…going back to bad habits with Nathaniel so she could feel safe, forgetting the terrible dull ache of boredom that took over when they were alone. When they made love, Nate never seemed to think of anything but his own needs, his own pleasure, leaving Amaya listless and wary. She pulls herself up short in this moment with Mick, here and now, struggling to understand herself because it matters so much that she goes into this change to their friendship with open eyes.

“I’ve always had feelings for you, Mick,” she gets out though the words try to stick in her throat. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be good for me, so I kept going back to Nate, but he’s…” Now she’s said his name. Guilt lances her but she forges on. “He’s not making me happy and he knows it, and he still doesn’t even try…if I have to listen to him explain one more thing to me in that condescending tone, or if I have to lay there trying to feign arousal again, I’m going to scream!”

Mick is totally shocked, but too aware that she needs to say this, get it off her chest, to dare interrupting.

“I’m scared by everything we’ve been going through with Mallus, and I’m _lonely_ like I’ve never been in my life, empty and throbbing with loneliness, and so help me, I’m…” Amaya shakes hard, to the extent that Mick hugs her again, covering her head with kisses and murmuring words of solace. She can say it into his chest, feeling protected in the warm confines. His shirt smells of whiskey, too, and a spicy cologne that takes her slightly by surprise. “Dammit it all, I’m _horny,_ ” Amaya divulges. “And I want you, Mick. Should I be ashamed? Is there something wrong with me?”

“Shut up, God, no,” he insists, voice thickened with the force of his emotions. “You’re perfect. I know what you’re gonna say, no one’s perfect, well okay, guess what, I’m entitled to my opinion, too. I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“You love me?” She kisses his lips, a light, tentative brush that ignites him more fiercely than ever. He sinks his fingers into her hair and licks her lower lip before nipping it just enough to make her give a broken yelp. 

“Yeah, I love you. You can have whatever you need from me,” Mick confides ardently.

There’s no bed, so she takes the blankets that fell off of him when he sat up on his bench press and layers them on the floor, taking Mick’s hand and pulling him down on top of her as she lies down. “Come here, then.” He sinks down, his body resting between her hips in a fluid motion that feels beyond natural…sublime. Amaya strokes his cheek, traces his lips, and then kisses them twice more before adding, “We’re going to get you a bed.”

“You could just invite me to yours,” Mick suggests, but the way his palm presses into to her leg, traveling up to her thigh has her momentarily unable to reply. Her breathless state intensifies as he follows his fingers’ path with his mouth, biting down at the uppermost point of her thigh. By the time he lays one big, rugged finger against her decidedly moistened underwear, Amaya wonders if her vocabulary will forever hereafter be consigned to “ahh!,” or strangled gasps. She has much to learn still.

He gives a hiss of satisfaction at the feeling of her juices soaking through the thin cotton for him, but despite the way this is music to her ears, Amaya remembers his previous question. “We…could go to my bed, but…do you have that kind of patience right now?” The tease is just enough to make him growl possessively, taking hold of her hips and rubbing along the bones there, lowering his mouth to her center.

“Fuck no,” he answers huskily, licking up her thigh and then straight across her panties, waiting for her answering moan and the clamping down of her hand over the back of his head as he slips the offending garment down. 

_How…where…did he ever learn…how is that even possible…_ Amaya tries to process the reality of his eager, relentless oral sex but it’s impossible to produce anything more than frantically jagged thought fragments. He groans appreciatively, sending a sweet oscillation through her pussy that makes her cry out in surprise. Encouraged, he licks deeper still, then plays with her wherewithal a bit too much by sliding his finger up and down at her entrance, until she has to find a way to get a moan around a gulp to tell him, “Don’t stop, _God!_ "

“How’s that, baby?” Mick inquires attentively, using one finger to rub her clit as her hips jerk upward and her vision blurs. He penetrates her, then pulls his finger out again, licks her even more passionately, then plunges in with two fingers, arcing them up until Amaya throws her shaking leg over his shoulder and squeals helplessly. She’s pulling his body towards her with both legs before he knows it, drawing him in and cradling his back tightly. “That’s good, huh?” His raspy sigh hits her ear along with a wet kiss carrying her own scent, and in every attention he shows her, Amaya can feel his loving dedication to maximizing her enjoyment of this to the nth degree.

“See,” he adds thoughtfully, “I can be good at loving you, Amaya.”

“Yes. I think I was afraid to find out…you know the way my life is situated…I’m always threatened with the notion that any misstep of mine could ruin my future family’s destiny…at least with — with _him_ , I could be fairly certain it would never last, never imperil what I have to make myself do one day, when I have to leave. Looking at you now, I know how much leaving will hurt. Even if being with you is probably very much worth the pain.” She smiles sadly. “ _You’re_ worth the risk, Mick. I’m sorry I waited so long to see that.”

“Tell me the truth behind that sentence,” Mick implores tenderly.

“I love you, too,” she confesses, vulnerable, desperate for his next touch and to touch him. He smiles like he can’t believe she really said that, and it’s such a defenseless look, half-tinged by melancholy despite the undisguised burst of joy her words have caused. They both know there may be a finish line to their relationship coming sooner than could ever feel fair.

She manages to sit up, lifting his black t-shirt off and looking with entranced dedication at the scars carved into his torso. How can she resist kissing every one of his past wounds? Mick has done the same for her on many levels for as long as she’s known him.

He sighs raggedly, petting at her hair and raking a hand through it, but when she undoes his trousers with the clear intention of going down on him, he uses his hold on her hair to pull her gently but firmly upward. Tilting her face back, he says, “I really don’t have that kind of patience. You’re delicious, tight, perfect…I want you too much.”

“No such thing,” Amaya says sharply, yanking his trousers down and roving her hands over his ass, making him suck in a breath as he slides his cock up against her sopping, begging slit. 

He glides in smoothly, both of them continuing their fragile cacophony of moans and sighs. Amaya follows his rhythm, moving her hips up to take him in as deeply as possible, her feet massaging his back and holding him in firmer. Mick takes it all the way from long, slow thrusts, letting her get used to his length and girth, to a hurried and insatiable slamming until only her grip on his body keeps her basically in place. “Fuck,” she whimpers, her sweaty fingers slipping over his back, her orgasm crashing over her as she feels the power of his next thrust and knows he’s right behind her. A look of complete astonishment takes him over as he comes, groaning profoundly and then resting his head against her breasts, carefully hovering so that he won’t put too much of his weight on her. She wraps her arms around him, the surreal sensation of his panting chest against her stomach making her want nothing more than to stay like this with him forever.

 _But for us, there can be no forever._ Unless forever couldn’t be simply quantified, unless it lived inside smaller moments, infusing you with faith in love when you had been so far from believing such happiness could ever possibly be for you. _So completely worth it._

Mick covers Amaya with one of the blankets and they stay nestled on top of the mercifully plush thickness of the lower one. There’s a lot they should discuss but the silence says it all. She’s going to have to end things with Nate, and she’ll always feel guilty about not being able to resist being with Mick before she faced that first responsibility. Can she tell Nathaniel that she cheated? Amaya doesn’t think the hurt she would cause him could justify making the break-up any worse. Has he ever thought about the way Amaya and Mick look at each other, or how they can never seem to resist the subconscious urge to get a little closer than one ever would within the standard boundaries of personal space?

“How long did it take you to start worrying again?” Mick wonders, snuggling closer to her. He feels and smells like home.

“About a minute.” She peeks up at him and he tousles her curls playfully before lightly bonking her nose. 

“Don’t do that. It’ll be okay. And yeah, I promise to start taking my own advice.” 

“You’re sounding downright wise this evening, Mister Rory,” Amaya purrs in a Gideon-esque British accent. In her normal voice, she adds, “How can you be so sure?”

“Life is messy. Can’t predict it, can’t make it follow any kind of reasonable order. You just gotta…do the best you can. I’ll help you, and we’ll find the way…make things right with Nate. Get your totem back, figure how I can best use mine, defeat Mallus. Maybe I’ll…” he clears his throat and rolls his eyes, trying to cheer her up, bolster her confidence, ease her guilt and make her laugh all in one fell swoop. How does he do that? “Maybe I’ll start savin’ the drinking for Saturday nights.”

“Hmm…first of all, Mick Rory, the optimist? Since when is that a thing?”

Mick folds an elbow under his head and lifts up higher, meeting her gaze. “It’s about an hour old.”

“Oh, I see. And about the drinking, why is it always beer or whiskey, anyway? Ever give red wine a go? It tastes better.” But she knows damn well that smoky-sweet brown liquor adds an exceptional flavor to his lips, given that she can relax in the knowledge that he’s imbibed in moderation. 

He makes a sour face and looks at her critically, this time winning a giggle. “No it doesn’t, crazy-pants.”

“I’m not wearing any pants,” she drawls sassily, making him grunt in approval and use a calculated touch to the small of her back to close any remaining space between their bodies. 

“I haven’t forgotten. But, you know, about the other thing…that red wine idea isn’t entirely useless. It’d be pretty fucking delectable poured all over you, for example.” Mick has gone and made Amaya blush yet again, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she squirms pleasurably at the images he’s evoked regarding his future intentions.

He likes her flustered reaction, feels inspired by it to resume his skillful kissing until she’s falling blissfully apart all over again. Cause and effect, action and consequence…they don't always have to be such a bad thing. “Mick,” she murmurs dreamily as he licks her collarbone and kisses her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he replies easily, “Thank you, too.”

And they don’t have to say for what because they already know.

“Oh, and just for future reference, baby,” Mick puts in archly, “You don’t need to knock.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Title taken from the song "Chaos" by Frankie.
> 
> "Chaos is a color I wear well / And it looks mighty good on you"
> 
> *I was also thinking of two songs by LANY:  
> "Pink Skies": "shut up, I love you / you're my best friend"  
> "Super Far": "I'm not happy and you know it and you still don't even try"


End file.
